"How so?"
"You said it was three hours and a half when in reality it was only three minutes and a half."
But a clear wintry sun was shining in at the door of the tent, and he saw its gold across the snow. Beyond was a kitchen automobile at which men were obtaining coffee and food.
"Has Lannes come?" asked John.
"Not yet, but of course he'll be here soon; by noon, I fancy."
John went out and took his breakfast with his comrades of the Strangers. The morning was uncommonly bright. There was not a trace of cloud in the heavens, which had turned to the soft, velvety blue that one sometimes sees in winter, and which can make a man fancy that it is summer when he looks up, rather than winter when he looks down.
While John ate and drank, he continually scanned the skies looking for the coming of the Arrow. He saw aeroplanes hovering here and there over the French and German lines, but none coming toward Chastel.
He had expected, too, that Weber might return in the morning, but he did not reappear and John felt a distinct disappointment. Many had been killed, but Wharton and Carstairs had reported that no body had resembled Weber's. Then it was certain that he had not fallen. Perhaps the Germans had driven him ahead of them, and he would rejoin the French at some distant point.
The morning passed, slow and bright, but it did not bring Lannes. General Vaugirard himself came about noon, a huge purring man in a huge puffing automobile. He cast an approving eye over Bougainville's work, and puffing his cheeks still wider whistled a low, musical note.
"It could not have been done better," he said. Then he caught sight of John and exclaimed: